


A Whiff of Neon

by messier51



Series: Tired Tropes [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alien Castiel, Creature Castiel, Language Barrier, M/M, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7534780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messier51/pseuds/messier51
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"True mate" is really just a mistranslation of "I want to jump your bones because you smell really good."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Whiff of Neon

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr [here](http://messier51.tumblr.com/post/120170161392/if-you-havent-done-it-already-the-whole-omg-i) for the [tired tropes](http://messier51.tumblr.com/post/120138934007/ceeainthereforthat-defilerwyrm-why-settle) prompt: "the whole OMG I SMELLED YOU THREE BLOCKS AWAY AND YOU'RE MY TRUE MATE thing."

“So get this,” Sam says, around a spoonful of greek yogurt (who eats greek yogurt anyway? isn’t normal yogurt-yogurt healthy enough anymore?), “the ‘aliens’ or whatever they are, they have these translator thingies, but they don’t quite work right. And they’re, like, super smart, got-computers-for-brains, but  So during the accords, things would be going great except they’d use a word  ****wrong every now and again, and get everyone all mixed up…”

“That’s nice, nerd.”

* * *

 

Dean figures, in retrospect, that maybe he ought to’ve listened a little closer to Sam’s week-long obsessive recap of everything-angel-related. (They couldn’t call them aliens anymore, since the accords gave them all American citizenship. The thought makes Dean sick to his stomach. Or maybe that’s just the giant night light chasing him down the alley.)

The angel, neon blue mixed with almost-purple and translucent white, shifts in ways that make Dean’s eyes hurt if he tries to watch the patterns too closely. As they come nearer, they coalesce into a vaguely human-shaped being, but still fuzzy around the edges, like they’d crumble if you observe them too closely, and with all their excess light streaming from their shoulder-ish parts like wings.

Alright, so maybe angel’s not entirely inaccurate.

“HUMAN,” the thing speaks in a cascade of sparks, their voice bouncing across the chain link fence like lightning and crawling down Dean’s spine like nails.

The angel reaches down to the black box, more solid than any of their other parts, and shifts their hand-like appendage through it a few times before leaning towards Dean. Dean can see the individual wisps and motions of each tiny glowing wave bending itself to create form. In his fascination, Dean forgets to be afraid of what will happen if the angel tries to speak again, from so near.

Everything in the angel ticks, before they speak again. “I SMELLED YOU THREE BLOCKS AWAY AND YOU’RE MY TRUE MATE.”

The voice comes out at an almost-human volume sans fireworks, which is a relief until comprehension clicks in. Then Dean panics.

“What the fucking hell _is that even supposed to mean?_ Mate? SMELL?” Dean screams at the thing. He thinks. He’s on his knees, so it might have come out as a whisper.

The angel squats–no, that’s not right. The angel crunches up into themself, lowers, and then creates the illusion of a squatting human, to mimic Dean’s own position.

“IS IT NOT RIGHT,” rings through Dean’s ears, and he feels the rumble of the words as they exit his body through his fingertips and spill out over the gravel on the ground.

Dean takes a deep breath and tries to remember what Sam said. Anything that Sam said. And draws a blank. There’s no way he’s going to make it out of this unscathed. No time to think anyway.

“You can’t just go around telling people they’re your mate, buddy. True or not.”

“DO YOU… NOT SMELL ME TOO?”

The angel shifts back through themself, slightly, until they’re no longer mere inches in front of Dean’s face.

“Dude I don’t know what that means but I took a shower today, and I can’t smell much of anything right now because I’m a little freaked out but,” Dean stops wordvomiting to take a breath, and runs out of guts, ”whatever it is you want,” and Dean’s voice is NOT getting higher, that’s just his ears ringing, “I’m sure we can figure it out justpleasedon’thurtmeokay?” Dean doesn’t squeak, or whimper. Also, shut up.

The angel retreats into themself before–well it looks like they turn inside out, which would make sense except that it doesn’t–and returns to their more nebulous natural form.

“YOU,” the angel says, “ARE NOT INSCENTED. I WILL RETREAT TO BETTER STUDY YOUR HUMAN GROOVES. PLEASE,” and the angel hesitates to pulse, turning almost entirely translucent for a moment, “WOULD YOU GIVE TO ME YOUR NAME.”

“You first, buddy,” spits out Dean, although he regrets it almost immediately. Because yeah, taunting the giant space alien that speaks in explosives is a great plan.

“I AM GIVEN THE NAME CASTIEL”

Well. That’s a mouthful.

“Dean. Dean Winchester.”

The pulses that ripple through Castiel are almost pink, and each disparate strand of neon blue

“IT IS GOOD TO HAVE MET YOU BELOVED DEAN WINCHESTER. I WILL SHOULDER YOUR FURTHER ACQUAINTANCE SOON.”

The angel disappears rather quickly, and Dean is left picking gravel out of his hands in shock. He’s  _really_ got to talk to Sam about these angels…


End file.
